


Darling, Sweet Lover Won't You Help Me To Recover?

by Wand_of_Thunder



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Female Friendship, Grief/Mourning, Oops I killed Steve, Please Forgive me, SHIELD Agent Darcy Lewis, mix of movies and comics, the healing process
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-03-11 13:35:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3328406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wand_of_Thunder/pseuds/Wand_of_Thunder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Because broken people can get better if they really want to"</p>
<p>When the unthinkable happens, Bucky is left in pieces and Darcy tries her hand at human jigsaw puzzles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> From the bottom of my twisted little heart, I'm sorry for this. But the idea planted itself in my head and refused to let me work on other projects unless I unleashed upon the world. So... *shrugs*

It was official. The whole world- nope scratch that, the entire motherfucking _universe_ (multiverse? fuck it, she could never wrap her head around the whole “other realms” deal anyway) had gone completely sideways.  **  
**

A talking raccoon and actual real-life Tree Beard came into her office yesterday, ate all her scones, and complained about “Terrans” for twenty minutes before Coulson was able to lure them away with the promise of shiny, explosive things.

Sif and the Warriors Three were currently staying in suites at the Ritz Carlton that Darcy herself had to book with rather odd, very... well _specific_ specifications. She really felt for the poor concierge that had to explain to Volstagg what a bidet was for.

Colonel Carol Danvers, who Darcy actually really liked and thought was normal in a sarcastic, badass fighter pilot sort of way, turned out to be like genetically modified by ALIENS and could now wield cosmic energy. And fly. Though really, judging by how her life had been going lately, Darcy really should have seen that one coming. 

Tony _“Be honest, are those real?”_ Stark, through some serious lapse of judgement and sanity on SHIELD’s part was now the actual official Director. She was pretty sure Maria Hill was secretly plotting to usurp the title from the shadows though.

Oh yeah, and a motley group of people dressed in bondage leather and calling themselves the X-men were currently in a hastily arranged powwow with 90% of the Avengers in a vibranium enforced conference room right across the hall from her office.

But the weirdest thing, probably the most inconceivable thing she ever had to fathom in her very unfathomable life so far, was the fact that he was gone. Like for good this time, no putting him on ice and waiting a few decades, no miracle Blue Man Group alien blood-goo to pump into him to bring him back. Just gone.

And boy was she not one to handle death gracefully. It all seem like some elaborate hoax to her, his death, like Bigfoot or Balloon Boy. This irrational, idealistic, _delusional_ part of her still expected to bump into big, warm Steve around every corner at SHIELD HQ. And each reminder that it was simply impossible, never ever going to happen ever again, was like reliving the first news of his death all over again.

Darcy could remember exactly where she was and what she was doing when her communicator buzzed that day. It was her day off and she was sitting in her pajamas at noon, enjoying some leftover takeout and flipping through the newest issue of Forbes (A gloriously regal Pepper Potts gracing the cover). The message was short and simple, from the Black Widow. _“Turn on your TV.”_

It was on every channel, footage from the chaotic scene at the courthouse steps. The shaky, panicked camera feed played on repeat with various talking-heads giving vacuous commentary, and Darcy could do nothing but watch helplessly over and over again as the most patriotic man in recent history, her good friend, stepped in front of a city cop, took four bullets to the chest and fell. A horrible, empty clawing feeling gripped her own chest which tightened and twisted with each repetition.

It could only have been mere minutes of her silently staring at the TV in disbelief before both her communicator and her cell phone started going off non-stop. She had no time to grasp the magnitude of what she was seeing, let alone grieve her friend’s violent death. SHIELD needed all hands on deck, and she was nothing if not a good agent. Boxing up the torrential whirlwind of emotions that had threatened to flood her, securing them carefully with a mental padlock and sweeping it all under the lumpy rug of her conscious mind, Darcy dressed for work and prepared for what she did best. Damage control.

* * *

 **  
**Almost 32 hours later and she still hadn’t had the chance the cry (or shower or change her clothes for that matter). Besides a few initial texts to reassure one another that they were both okay, Darcy hadn’t even been able to talk to Jane. Around twelve hours in and after an agency wide briefing given by a stoic Coulson and a very pale, grim-faced Director Stark, all non-essential personnel (i.e. Jane and her lab monkeys) were sent home with strict orders not to talk to the press and to stay indoors. The rest of the helicarrier was on high alert. The fact that the shooter was still at large and the shocking lack of intel or forensics kept the remaining agents and techs on a razor’s edge. And the lack of rest, food and sleep wasn’t helping the ship’s collective mood.

So, no one was exactly surprised when the tension finally broke a few agents, their anger, fear, confusion manifesting in the form of a petty tussle in the galley. Darcy had escaped her desk in search of the black sludge that masqueraded as coffee at SHIELD, when she heard the raised voices and scuffle of regulation shoes on the linoleum floor. **  
**

She couldn’t help but roll her eyes as she rounded the corner to the kitchens. “ _Boys_ ,” she muttered to herself, straightening her spine in preparation to break up the row.

But as the scene came into view, it became clear that Darcy wasn’t the only person annoyed by the outburst. And that other person was moving a hell of a lot faster than her, stalking with a wild, murderous look on his pale, unshaven face.

The emotional hurricane she quarantined to the deep depths of her mind pitched and threatened to tear down her carefully constructed defenses at the sight of of the man. Sergeant James Barnes, normally a fairly well put together, young (at least in appearance) soldier, was the textbook definition of a hot mess. Darcy allowed her heart to ache for a few beats in sympathy for the broken man that just got his best friend, brother really, back only to lose him forever. Then the facade was back up and Agent Lewis took over right when Bucky’s metal hand gripped the collar of one of the fighting men and lifted him like a kitten by the scruff of its neck.

“Really?” he growled, sounding like he’d been gargling whiskey and broken glass. _“Really? You really want to do this?!”_

The cramped, tiled room echoed with his enraged question, the few occupants falling silent in response. The two agents that started the fight had the good sense to at least look guilty. **  
**

“Stand down, Barnes,” Darcy barked, her right hand autonomously reaching down to grip the taser clipped to her belt. Metal arm or not, Barnes was a dangerous man, and if working for SHIELD had taught her anything it was that you could never be too cautious.

“Please don’t make me use this,” she said with a false bravado when the cybernetically advanced assassin failed to even twitch or glance in her direction. “ _Bucky_ ,” his name left her lips like a gentle plea.

Finally, the metal-arm whirred quietly as the fingers disengaged and the red-faced, sweaty agent in his clutches collapsed in an undignified heap on the linoleum floor. Barnes backed away slowly with a horrifyingly blank look on his face until he bumped into the countertop across the kitchen and slumped against it.

Darcy turned towards the remaining agents that clearly weren’t smart enough to get the hell out of there, straightened up and planted her fists firmly on her hips. “Don’t the rest of you have _jobs_ to be doing?” She asked, doing her best to channel her inner Maria Hill.

It was momentarily immensely satisfying to watch the male agents scramble like cockroaches after someone turned on the light. Having the reputation as the woman that single-handedly took down Thor (well, a human-like, powerless Thor, but it still counted!) really did have it’s perks around SHIELD.

A stifled growl, followed by what sounded suspiciously like a metal fist annihilating a completely innocent pantry cabinet brought Darcy back to the broody, clearly distressed and not coping well problem at hand.

“You know, I have no clue why SHIELD hasn’t invested in smash-proof _everything_ at this point,” she mused, letting her god given gift of gab take the lead. It was way easier than addressing the big, emotional, star-spangled elephant in the room.

The noncommittal grunt she got in reply was enough to keep the small talk flowing, at least on her side.

“I mean seriously, an adamantium remodel would probably pay for itself in like _less_ than a year given the super-strength and hair trigger temperament of a surprising amount of the people who frequent here...” Most of the wind left her sails at the utterly grim look Barnes shot her.

“I wont tell anyone about this,” Darcy said in a hushed tone. A heaviness had enfolded the area, like emotional high humidity. Her heart lurched again and tears pricked at her eyes. Denial Darcy brushed them off as signs of fatigue.

“So, uh, _yeah_. Maybe you should get some rest-” she began, but Barnes straightened up and trudged out like she was a bag of potatoes and not a living, breathing, TALKING human being.

“ _Or something_.” Darcy finished for the vacant room, feeling an aching emptiness invade her chest. She couldn’t blame him, not really. Pretending like everything was fine was physically painful for _her_. It was impossible to even think what Steve’s closest friend must be feeling.

So, Darcy let him go, knowing that sometimes wallowing in the sorrow and darkness _helped_. That Bucky needed his own time to feel the loss, to mourn. And she’d be there with a stupid pun or rambling train of thought when he was ready to rejoin the world again. 

* * *

 

When Darcy was close to hitting the 80 hour mark of her nonstop stint on the helicarrier, she zombie-shuffled her way to the dormitories for a well deserved 4 hour nap only to find Jane waiting impatiently for her on the corner bed Darcy had claimed dibs on when she first started at SHIELD. 

“ _Oh god_ , Darcy!” the petite scientist gasped and launched herself into Darcy’s exhausted arms, which at this point seemed more noodles than limbs.

Though despite being tired all the way down to her DNA, Darcy clung to her friend _hard_. After the events of New Mexico (making first contact, transformers from hell and all that jazz) the two women had formed an odd-couple-esque, ersatz marriage. Unintentionally, they had become integral parts of each other’s lives. And it wasn’t until that moment, wrapped in Jane’s vice-like hug, that she felt the magnitude of what had happened belly-flop down on her like a tsunami of overwhelming emotions. Grief, fear, rage, helplessness. Each combined and multiplied, crashing against her stubbornly wrought dam until it gave way with one tremendous sob.

Jane awkwardly guided Darcy’s shaking body to the bed, refusing to release her, until they were both entangled on the small cot; Jane taking the position of big spoon and gently stroking the young woman’s hair as she cried.

It was a long while before either of them talked. A handful of other agents came and went, some staying and settling in themselves, but most seemed to share a collective restlessness and were off again just about as soon as they laid down. Either no one took notice of the sorrowful pair sharing a bed, or, more likely, they understood and tried to give them some privacy. The dormitory was nearly empty when Darcy finally turned on her side and faced Jane.

“You shouldn’t be here, s’not safe,” she accused thickly, her voice heavy with exhaustion and snot. She was still shaking slightly with those awful little after-shock hiccups one gets after hysterically crying.

Jane smiled sadly and wiped at her own tear-stained face. “I couldn’t stand it back at the Tower. Too quiet,” she whispered. “Besides, I was accompanied by the most fearsome warrior maiden of all the nine realms. Aren’t many people I’d be safer with.”

Darcy’s brow furrowed and her whole body tensed, prepared for action. “Sif’s here? _Why?_ To fight? Does that mean they found someone?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.” Jane shook her head and made a half-hearted attempt at a conspiratorial smirk. “Pretty sure she came for Dr. Banner.”

“What... _no way_. Lady Sif and the Hulk?” It seemed petty and stupid at first, gossiping about their friends. But just the mere chance of something good, of potential love, it was like a beacon. Both women fixated on it, a temporary defense from the storm.

“It kinda fits, in a weird interdimensional romance novel way. I mean, she’s nearly indestructible and he’s, uh… well-”

“Destructive?” Darcy supplied.

They both laughed, nearly startling themselves. That touch of normalcy, simply talking and giggling with a friend, was a balm. The crushing-feeling lessened for a moment and it became easier to breathe. It didn’t last, but Darcy had never been more grateful to have Jane in her life.

“I guess stranger things have happened.” Jane mused once the resulting silence had grown too suffocating.

“Yeah,” Darcy answered, trying and failing to sustain the lighter mood. She felt her eyes start to water again as reality crept up. The horrible reason they were sharing a bed and whispering in the dark like kids at summer camp.

“Darce, you should get some sleep. You look like d-” Jane stuttered, a fleeting look of panic on her face, before wincing and starting again. “You’ve looked better.”

“Says the grown woman wearing a Thundercats shirt.”

“Har har. Seriously though Darcy, you’ve strong-armed me into going to bed enough for me to learn a few things. You need sleep.” She smirked and wrinkled her nose. “And a shower.”

Darcy couldn’t get her facial muscles to form a smile, so she poked Jane in the ribs and hoped that got her point across. She knew what her former boss was doing, and she appreciated it beyond measure. Jane squirmed, but a small smile graced her face as she moved to sit up in the cramped bed.

“I’m going to go try and sneak into the labs, maybe I can help someway or-” She was cut off by Darcy’s hand shooting out to grab a fistful of her shirt. Fear had washed over the agent’s face, making the young woman look more like a child playing make-believe that had become much too real. Jane’s heart suddenly felt much too big for her chest to contain.

“You- You’re leaving?” Darcy managed to whisper. “ _Please_ , I can’t- I… I don’t want to be alone. It’s just-”

Jane shushed her friend and settled back down until they were again smushed together on the single cot. “It’s okay, Darce. Science can wait,” she said in a near echo of the words Darcy had a habit of repeating like a mantra whenever Jane herself got too wrapped up in her work. And if she was being honest with herself, for once some time spent sharing the warmth and comfort of a friend seemed much more appealing than any cold, sterile lab.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! It means the world to me :D


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life struggles to return to normal after the Steve's death. Darcy works herself silly, and Bucky finds himself in a spot of trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, shit. I am so sorry for just disappearing and leaving this story hanging. I know that really sucks.
> 
> But I rewrote the ending, added another chapter, and hopefully redeemed myself a bit.
> 
> As always, thank you all so much for reading!

Regardless the fact that Steve Rogers was quite possibly the most optimistic person to ever walk the planet and would encourage his friends and loved ones to carry on with a fond smile and determined spirit, Darcy couldn’t help but feel she was betraying his memory somehow. It just didn’t feel _right,_ acting like everything was okay. Going back to “normal” life.

And while crying her eyes out with Jane helped to lessen the pressure of her grief, she still felt it immensely. Like an over-inflated tire.

After a few dead ends and wild goose chases, any trace of Steve’s killer had gone cold. The whole U.S. government, including SHIELD’s best detectives and analysts were still on the case, but for the rest of the shadowy organization, things had to return to business as usual. Barely a month after the funeral, the black armbands had come off and suddenly the halls and lunch tables were back to the regular shop talk and idle chit-chat. It wasn’t fair.

Was Darcy really the only one still reeling from the loss? Every morning she woke up to a world that lost its luster and had to trudge through her day at SHIELD with a soul that felt lined with lead, trying to avoid the abundance of triggers that caused the memories to flood in and overwhelm her. Smiling began to feel like a physically painful chore, but everyone around her seemed to have no trouble (the exception being the number of agents that never _learned_ how to smile *cough cough* May *cough*). She felt isolated, alone. Nobody even talked about Steve anymore.

Even Stark, though still rocking the tell-tale dark circles and bloodshot eyes of the overly stressed and sleep deprived, had gone back to his old ways of flirting, bullshitting and flying through his job by the seat of his shiney metal pants. Then again, Darcy supposed men like Tony Stark pretty much had pretending like they weren’t falling apart down to an artform. Maybe she should start taking notes…

Still she soldiered on, keeping her work at the same pace and efficiency as before. In fact, if anything her efficiency rating skyrocketed. All the menial paper-pushing and clean up work that used to drive her bonkers became a welcome distraction. So much so, that Darcy even began voluntarily filling out incident and expense reports for other agents.

And while most chose not to look a gift horse in the mouth, a concerned (or suspicious) co-worker must have ratted her out to the higher-ups because, almost two months to the _day,_ International Man of Mystery Phil Coulson himself barged unexpectedly into her cubicle with a tablet in one hand and an obscenely large cup of Starbucks coffee in the other.

“Agent Lewis,” he greeted her with his usual air of nonchalance and zen-like calm. Coulson then proceeded to sit down, uninvited, and slide the steaming hot beverage towards her on her desk like an appeasement. Darcy frowned.

“...vanilla?” She inquired, suspiciously. It was common knowledge that a nice blonde roast was like kryptonite for the young agent.

“With triple espresso.” Darcy glanced towards her phone. It was well past midnight, going on one, and her boss was bringing her extra caffeine. This did not bode well.

“It has come to my attention that you’ve been doubling your workload, under your own authority.” _And so it begins_.

“Well, you know, anyway I can help-” She was shooting for “self effacing” but the words came out downright timid and weak, like the whine of a scolded puppy.

“You’re wearing yourself too thin. A mentally and physically exhausted agent is no good to anyone. It’s a liability.” The stern tone of voice and disapproving brow of her S.O. stung. In her current state of mind, it didn’t take long for her to turn from receptive to defensive.

“So, what, you came to chastise me for doing a good job and thought _coffee_ would soften the blow?” As she said it out loud, the notion didn’t seem _that_ ridiculous. In Coulson’s defense, her first year she _did_ forgive a fellow trainee for giving her a black eye during sparring exercises because the woman apologized with a $25 Starbucks gift card.

“No, the coffee’s for your next mission. Director Stark wants to see you in his office. Now.”

“My - what? But you just said-”

“And when you get back, I’m putting you on leave. Darcy, you can’t keep going on like this.” Was she starting to get delirious from lack of sleep, or was Coulson actually giving her a sympathetic look?

“Thanks, _Dad_ ,” She grumbled under her breath, taking a sip of the proffered coffee despite herself.

“Oh and you’ll need this,” Coulson said, standing up and holding out the tablet for her to take. On the screen was a file, mostly redacted, with a big ol’ level seven security clearance stamped up at the top. Darcy gaped.

“But I’m level six..” which wasn't all that impressive considering that she started out level 4 because of the whole “New Mexico” incident.

“Not anymore. Congratulations Agent Lewis.” In classic Coulson understated fashion, he didn’t even offer Darcy a smile as he congratulated her in a sardonic tone.

“Thanks, I guess…”

“I’m serious Lewis, after this I don’t want to see you for _weeks_. Consider that an order.”

“Yes, sir!” she called out to Coulson’s retreating back. As he left, Darcy could have sworn she heard the distinctive sigh of the long-suffering.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When the infamously over-indulgent Tony Stark took over Fury’s old office on the helicarrier, most people expected him to go “balls to the walls” in the decor department, but the Iron Man shocked everyone when the only alteration he made to the existing office space was the addition of a full juicebar. Granted it was a fancy, robo-mechanical Stark(™) juicebar that specialized in surprisingly expensive yet horribly disgusting chlorophyll smoothies, but still. Most were expecting a total redesign, including copious amounts of red and gold, and at least two stipper poles.

Darcy was weirdly disappointed in Tony’s decision to keep it classy.

“Lewis! How’s my favorite walking sexual harassment lawsuit?” Tony’s head popped up just long enough to take in the new visitor to his office before disappearing back down behind what looked like a disemboweled prop from a Terminator movie covering his desk.

“Just peachy. So what’s the scoop Inspector Gadget?”

Tony wheeled out his chair from behind his makeshift workshop, slapping his hands on his knees and giving Darcy a good once over before finally addressing her with a frown. “Peachy, huh?”

One “pots shouldn’t accuse kettles of being black” look from his agent shutdown that train of thought. Tony himself certainly didn’t embody the word “peachy” either. Unless your definition of “peachy” was neurotic and running on fumes.

“Anyway, you read the file?”

Darcy hadn’t, actually. Being far more interested in why the director of SHIELD himself had to give her this particular mission instead of her SO, she had barely glanced at the tablet before hurrying off to Stark’s office.

“Of course...” she replied, trailing off as she finally pulled up the entirety of the file Coulson had handed off to her. Darcy nearly dropped the damn thing when she was suddenly staring at a disturbing, black and white photo of a clean shaven, cryogenically frozen James Barnes. It was like someone had poured glacial water over her head. She’d heard the stories, some first hand from the man himself, but seeing was a whole nother ball game. “ _Shit_.”

“Yup,” Tony took Darcy’s distraction as an opportunity to go back to tinkering with his suit. “Barnes sure drew the short straw in life, didn’t he?” he mused, clearly oblivious to the young agent’s distress.

“I-I...why am I-he-?” words failed her as she tried to shake off the utter shock. The icy dread, always lingering since Steve’s death, crept back up, threatening to engulf everything. Darcy had to try her damnedest to swallow it down. “What’s the assignment?”

“Our friend Bucky seems to have found himself in a bit of a sticky situation and is in need of an extraction. He’s in a... well, _fragile_ state of mind, so I’m sending in my least threatening agent after him.”

“-least threatening?”

“Yes, but you’re also rather skilled at talking yourself out of things and I can only imagine that will come in handy for this job.”

“I-why? Where is he?”

“Dutchess County Jail.” he was so nonchalant that the information almost didn’t process in her head.

“Did he arrest someone…?”

“An arrest _was_ involved…”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Of all the things Darcy thought she’d be doing at three in the morning on a thursday night, driving through a thunderstorm to Poughkeepsie, New York was not one of them. She’d never even been to Poughkeepsie, let alone stormed into its county jail on a rescue mission. But alas, fate found her behind the wheel of a big, unmarked SHIELD SUV, fighting the wind and rain as she followed her navigation system through the streets of the mostly sleeping city.

She supposed she had done weirder things for stranger reasons. It sort of came with the whole agent territory. Actually, relatively speaking, this assignment was practically mundane when compared to most of the field work she’d been given in the past.

And yet, she was nauseous with anxiety.

Darcy hadn’t seen a trace of Bucky since the kitchen incident, and after Tony gave her a rundown of the situation, she couldn’t help but think the worst. It was clear the soldier wasn’t handling his best friend and old partner’s death well. It’s just no one expected he’d go so far off the deepend as to start a bloody bar fight with civilians and threaten a police officer.

Apparently, Bucky had requested leave after Steve’s funeral, only to go completely off the grid. Well, at least he _tried_ , that distinctive, metal arm was difficult even for a not grief-stricken super assassin to hide forever. About two weeks into his “leave”, a SHIELD monitoring system picked up an APB on an armed and dangerous, bearded, caucasian male that seemed to have some sort of powerful prosthetic arm. An agent had to intercept the call the local police were forced to make for the National Guard.

Luckily for everyone, Bucky had either surrendered himself or was captured by police, and was now sitting pretty in solitary confinement, surrounded by armed guards, and waiting for extraction.

Darcy speculated the Dutchess County Jail had never seen such a flurry of activity as she stood dripping a puddle onto the floor of hall and waited for several heavily armed, disgruntled officers to retrieve her sullen prize from his holding cell. The place was packed. It seemed like the whole force had been called in to deal with one man (not like a whole army of officers would have been a match for the Winter Soldier if he was in a truly deadly mood).

A green looking deputy stood at attention by her elbow, almost buzzing with either anticipation or fear and Darcy bets were on the latter. The young man had been close to sheer relief tears when she flashed her shiny badge and declared that she was taking over containment of the “prisoner.”

“Don’t you need backup? This guy- you don’t understand… this guy is _inhuman_.” Some unrelenting sense of duty must of made him speak up since it looked like the words broke free of his mouth against his will. The deputy quickly turned a deep shade of pink.

“Nah, Thor’s abs are inhuman. This guy’s just not quite housebroken yet. Still feral.”

Darcy only got a second to bask in the man’s awe struck gaze before a heavy steel door buzzed open and two burly men wheeled out what looked like a 20th century super-soldier strapped to a dolly. She blinked. Yep, definitely Bucky and definitely a Hannibal Lecter-esque dolly and restraints, minus, thankfully, the creepy mask. One look at her friend’s condition and she bristled up like an angry grizzly. He was limp and practically catatonic.

“Is this all really necessary?” at the sound of her seething voice, Bucky’s watery red eyes locked onto Darcy and a hint of a smirk twitched at his lips. He looked like hell, bloodied and covered in grime, but at least he was still in there.

“With all due respect Miss-”

“Agent, actually,” Darcy corrected with bite. That got a bark of a laugh out of Barnes, before he nearly collapsed into a fit of coughs, the straps holding him upright pulling taut against his chest.

“God, what did you do to him?” she demanded, rushing over to hover at his side while a reluctant officer loosened the restraints.

“ _Agent,_ this man put two civilians in the hospital, totaled four cop cars and threatened to take one of my officers hostage. SHIELD is lucky my men didn’t turn him into roadkill.”  Darcy winced. That took most of the wind out of her sails. She knew it was bad, but what the _fuck_ was he thinking?

“They fucking started it, and I warned you boobs to leave me alone,” Bucky grumbled, nearly gasping between words. The guard busy loosening the straps holding him vertical “accidently” pulled up hard on the harness running between Bucky’s legs, earning a growl and a murderous stare.

“Hey nutter butter, maybe don’t antagonize the guys with the guns, huh?” Darcy reasoned, stepping forward to catch the bedraggled prisoner as he slumped off the dolly, finally free of the restraints. The cops seemed more than happy to let him face plant to the floor. She breathed in and he smelled like gunpowder, stale sweat and motor oil.

Up close he was much worse. His eyes were swollen and bloodshot, his lips dry and cracked, the dark T-shirt he was wearing was ripped and sticky with god-knew-what. Bucky was a far cry from the slicked back, smirking, attractive man that she had come to know. From the man that Steve Rogers called a brother. Bile rose in her throat at the thought. It would kill Steve all over again to see the broken man she had to hold tight on to so he wouldn’t crumble to the tile floor.

Once Bucky had a tentative grasp on his own sense of balance, Darcy took a nearly involuntary step back. Her stomach turned with disappointment and pity. She couldn’t even look him in the eye when she grabbed the special-made handcuffs off of her belt and clasped them efficiently to his wrists.

“Aw, jewelry? But I didn’t get you anything, Doll?” His lazy smirk turned to slack-jawed shock as his left arm suddenly went slack at the push of a button on Darcy’s belt. He tried in vain to so much as wiggle his metal fingers, and eventually leveled his new jailor with a mutinous glare.

“EMP, courtesy of Director Stark,” she explained, though she didn’t agree with Stark’s order to have him cuffed at all. Even sarcastic, rude, dirty and incarcerated, Darcy thought Bucky was still owed an iota of trust. And the betrayed looked on his face was heart rending. “Direct orders, Bucky,” escaped her mouth in lieu of an apology. He nodded grimly.

It was like a collective sigh of relief had overcome the station’s officers at the realization that the arm was out of commision. Now that most of the tension had dissipated, Darcy was suddenly feeling heavy from her lack of sleep and over-worrying. She could almost hear the siren call of her nice soft bed all the way back in the City. The agent wheeled around to address the now at ease room, desperate to put a cap on this fiasco of a night. “Agents will be in contact with this department shortly for debriefing. SHIELD thanks you for your assistance in this matter and values your discretion.”

Bucky hovered silently in the background like a sullen ghost as Darcy quickly signed the stack of papers the sheriff trust under her nose, collected his personal belongings, and made their goodbyes.

The storm was raging worse than ever outside when the doors closed behind the pair of them. The wind had picked up something fierce and quarter-sized chunks of hail joined the mix, adding an element of pain to the freezing cold rain. It was _lovely._

“ _Fucking Thor man…_ I swear, he’s always around to eat my food when I come back from the grocery store, but when I actually need a GOD OF MOTHERFRACKING THUNDER! he is nowhere to be seen,” Darcy grumbled, shouting into the wind.

And _of course_ , she had parked way the hell across the lot because every cop car in the whole damn county was taking up all the spaces. Bucky simply trailed behind her like a petulant child being dragged through the mall by it’s mother.

Darcy helped the incapacitated Bucky into the passenger seat and strapped him in for the ride. Water dripped down his lanky hair and onto his face, rolling in rivulets down to collect in the leather seat. At least it wasn’t _her_ car they were going to soak.

As soon as they were on the road back to quinjet hangar, the visibility dropped to about -25 percent. The wind buffeted the car and Darcy had to fight to keep the SUV on the road. At least she thought it was the road, everything looked all monsoon-ey. After a moment a panic when the tires hydroplaned briefly, she huffed in frustration and twisted her neck to level a look at her passenger, who was gripping the dashboard in front of him as best he could with the handcuffs.

“Sorry, but _fuck_ this!” She half-screamed into the confined space. “Fuck the rain, fuck SHIELD... and you know what, fuck you too. This is all your fault. You owe me big time bucko,” Darcy struggled both with getting a grip on the road and her hysterically tired mind.

Bucky’s lip twitched slightly, like he was fighting a smirk, but that was all the reaction she was going to get from him. Another outburst was silenced by the pinging of her comms.

 _“Agent Lewis,”_ Maria Hill’s stern voice crackled over the car’s speakers. _“Given the inclement weather situation, your SHIELD rendezvous has been moved to the facility upstate. I’m rerouting your navigation systems accordingly.”_

  
Never before had dear Maria sounded closer to an angel. “Affirmative,” Darcy responded, actually cracking a smile. “And thank fucking God!” Even Bucky seemed to loosen up at the news. The tension invading the SUV let up enough for both travelers to take a deep breath and unclench.


	3. Part Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY!
> 
> Oh, and brace yourselves. This one is long.

The fresh, new Avenger’s facility in Upstate New York was infinitely more comfortable and spacious than the helicarrier, not to mention the fact that arriving at it didn’t involve a nauseating mid-air jet landing in the dark and rain over the Atlantic Ocean. Plus the limited staffing meant less people to gawk as Darcy led a cuffed super-soldier to a minimal security “guest room”.

Bucky’s back under her hand as she guided him down the labyrinth of hallways felt more like a steel girder under his t-shirt than human flesh, the man was so tense. It made Darcy hyper aware of her own body language. She could only hope he couldn’t in turn feel just how _nervous_ she was around him.

She had felt something similar before, back when he was still adjusting to his newly restored autonomy. It started out as fear, Darcy was nowhere near stupid enough not be afraid of the infamous Winter Soldier, but then she got to know him, if a bit begrudgingly on his part in the beginning, and the man became more of a fellow human than a ghost story. The fear gradually morphed into general wariness, and cemented into genuine affection after Steve started to push his old pal into becoming more social. Soon enough Bucky started joining her and Steve on their impracticable mission to watch every movie of import made after 1945 (Darcy was endlessly amused when it turned out Bucky was also a filthy movie-talker, much to Steve’s chagrin), and he even made a few token appearances at Tony’s bizarre, yet endearing, team building exercises. And it’s damn near impossible to walk away from an Avengers Tower drunken pizza and karaoke solidarity party without developing a certain sense of comradery with your fellow “guests” (read: hostages). They were _friends_.

It was just now, _something had shifted between them_.

Of course there was still an intensity about Bucky, undoubtedly he made a lot of people uncomfortable with his unwavering, icy stares and occasional broody standoffishness. But for Darcy, this new discomfort was visceral. Her stomach knotted from just sharing the same room. Her palms sweat, and her knees wobbled. Her hairs stood on end, and her mouth went dry.

Sort of like the feeling right before getting on one of those free-fall towers at amusement parks. It wasn’t fear, she trusted Bucky like she trusted the safety harness to keep her safe from being flung into the upper atmosphere. But the reaction itself was scary in its intractability. By the time they reached their destination, a spacious suite fitted with extra security measures, Darcy had worked herself up so badly that her hands were noticeably shaking. She couldn’t even look at him as she opened the door with her passcode and biometrics.

“Wait,” Bucky bit out his first word in almost half an hour, and threw his arms out to block Darcy, nearly catching her in face with an elbow. She furrowed her brow and ducked around the bristling alley cat of a man.

Darcy didn’t even have the energy leftover to startle when she flipped the lightswitch, illuminating an unanticipated android. The Vision was waiting for them in the dark, standing in the middle of the room like a magenta and green sentry. He _was_ notorious for “haunting” the facility, often forgetting to use doors and generally disobeying the laws of physics with surprising regularity. Bucky disengaged immediately, giving his former adversary a brief, apologetic nod in greeting. Darcy supposed if anyone could relate to having the reputation of being a ghost, it was the Winter Soldier.

“Welcome, Agent Lewis, Sergeant Barnes. Ms. Hill informed me of your arrival. I’ve taken the liberty to brew a pot of coffee if either of you would care for some refreshment. I would have prepared a meal, but I am not familiar enough with your eating habits.” As soon as the word “coffee” left his mouth, Darcy nearly wept with joy.

“I would kiss you right now, Vis, if my lips weren’t so tired that it would be more like me gently slapping you in the face with a dead goldfish.” In retrospect, probably not the best statement to make to a person still struggling to grasp the nuances of hyperbole and humor, but sue her. She hadn’t slept in _weeks_. And the look of adorable confusion on Vision’s face was totally worth it.

“I think that was a “yes” on the coffee, Vision, thank you,” Bucky explained, finding he could actually empathize with the god-like android for once. He couldn’t fly or change his density at will, but he damn sure had been hopelessly stumped by Agent Darcy Lewis on more than one occasion. Especially tonight.

“Of course. One moment.” Vision smiled brightly before turning to the far wall and walking right through it.

“You know, he may be a bit weird, but Vision is good people.” Actually, good was way too modest. The Vision, in his unwavering curiosity and search to find his place in humanity, was the kindest person Darcy had ever met, and he wasn’t even, strictly speaking, a “person”. He genuinely enjoyed helping and caring for his teammates, a possible leftover from his beginnings as JARVIS. An unlikely sort of team-mom, but a treasured one nonetheless.

 Bucky shrugged in response as well as a person can shrug while being hopelessly lopsided. The slack of his left arm was starting to really irritate him. He looked pointedly down at his bonds before looking back up and catching his friendly captor’s eye. Her pretty, blue eyes, normally bright and gleaming with a silent joke, were puffy and dull. He was distracted from his desire to be free from the debilitating cuffs for a moment, giving her a good once over for the first time that night. She looked small. Tired, yet still defiantly beautiful in her clear exhaustion. And clearly trying to hide her unease. Bucky couldn’t help but wonder when she last was able to relax. The spitfire of a woman should’ve been off ruling the world, but here she was babysitting him because he couldn’t keep himself together long enough to escape notice.

Darcy sighed loudly, running a shaky hand through her rain damp hair, her fingers tangling in a few errant curls. “If I take those off, will you promise not to try anything?”

Bucky nodded briefly, not able to tear his eyes away from her face. Darcy practically squirmed under his gaze. He noted the pleasantly pink blush in her cheeks, filed away the sight for later.

“Yeah, uh well… it’s not like you’d get far with Vision here anyway.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Darcy.” And he meant it. He was tired as well, in so many ways, but right then he didn’t think he would trade Darcy’s company for any amount of sleep. Just her presence was a salve to his festering emotional wounds.

Something told him he’d most likely have a lot of free time to concentrate on the meaning of that _bombshell_ once fully in SHIELD custody. No doubt Stark was going to run him through the wringer when he caught up, might as well have a pretty, little puzzle to distract him while he was being dressed down.

Darcy busied herself with the keys to the cuffs, double checking that she had the right ones, checking the receiver on her belt, anything to avoid that disorientating look on Bucky’s face. What she could see through the sweat, grime, and practiced facade, the worry and raw desperation carefully masked, threatened to break her heart all over again. She felt herself flush, her face hot and hands clammy, as she approached him, eyes still downcast, and attempted to heft his arms up so she could finally release him. Both her arms, not the least bit weak by normal standards, could barely lift his high enough to locate the keyhole, let alone maneuver the key to release the lock. She could _feel_ the stupid smug smirk on his face, and it made her itch.

With a huff of frustration, and before Bucky could even think of helping her, Darcy gave up and simply dropped to her knees.

“W-what are you…that’s not _,_ ” Bucky definitely was not prepared for that move. Not that it wasn’t a wholly tempting sight to behold, but _Jesus._

“Oh hush!” The new vantage point was nearly perfect, and brought some relief to her aching neck and shoulders. At this point, she couldn’t bring herself to give a fuck about being awkwardly eye-level to Bucky’s groin. He’d just have to get over himself.

With a little finesse and a turn of the key, the cuffs thudded to the floor and Bucky’s metal prosthetic whirred back to life. They each let out a sigh, Darcy sitting back on her heels in triumph and Bucky finally giving both his arms a much needed stretch. As if magnetically drawn together, their eyes meet in a surprisingly heated gaze that startled them both.

There was a beat, a moment of naked vulnerability shared that seemed to suck the air right out of the room.

“ _Darcy…_ ” Bucky whispered, the sound barely escaping his throat.

“I believe I am interrupting something,” of course The Vision chose that moment to return, using the actual door this time and laden with a tray of mugs and a carafe of steaming hot coffee. He just stood there, shifting awkwardly, head cocked to the side like a confused labrador, waiting for either of them to say _anything_.

So, Darcy started to laugh. Hysterically. Like something in her snapped, and she tumbled headfirst into lunacy. Something about the situation, the absurdity of it all, hit her right in the fucking funny bone. She had to clutch her stomach from the force of it, her abs contracting almost painfully. It had been far too long since the muscles had been exercised like this, but while they protested slightly, it felt amazing to use them again. Still on the floor and doubled over with tears starting stream down her face, Darcy let wave after wave of cathartic laughter crash over her until she was out of breath.

It was therapeutic and freeing and peculiar and so all encompassing; it was almost like leaving the real world for a brief, propitious moment. A much needed respite from all the bullshit and grief.

It also looked incredibly absurd. For the life of him, the Vision couldn’t fathom any reason behind the young agent’s mirth, and began to postulate on her mental health. Until he glanced over to observe Sergeant Barnes.

Something about her sudden outburst was so captivating, almost infectious, that even though he had no fucking clue what she was laughing at, Bucky couldn’t stifle an amused grin, an honest to god, genuine, toothy grin that made his face ache. Bucky couldn’t even remember the last time he smiled, let alone the last time it felt so natural and easy. And the smile only grew bigger the longer she laughed.

Once her laughter had died down, breathing taking over as her body’s priority and sanity prevailing once again, Bucky reached down with his metal arm and hauled her back up to standing. Darcy flashed him a grateful, mega-watt smile that made the empty spot beneath his ribs sing and his stomach clench.

There was a resounding moment of silence as they just beamed at each other, completely forgetting the android third wheel watching the exchange curiously. The Vision cleared his throat, well imitated clearing his throat since his body was efficient enough to make the action itself superfluous.

“I do not understand what is funny.” He was still just standing there, dutifully clutching the tray and looking hopelessly lost.

“Oh, jeez, sorry Vision. I actually don’t know what came over me,” she tried to explain, still breathless and wiping stray tears from her eyes, as the confused Avenger moved to place the laden tray in the direct middle of the room’s glass coffee table. Darcy caught Bucky’s eye again and they exchanged guilty, yet gleeful looks like grade school students conspiring behind their teacher’s back.

“It’s quite alright, Agent Lew-“ he cut himself off, suddenly distracted, cocking his head and furrowing his brow in concentration. “If you’ll excuse me, I believe Director Stark is trying to contact me.”

“At this time of night?” Bucky asked his teammate’s retreating back.

If anyone had any doubt of the Vision’s humanity, one listen to his responding, wholly _human_ sigh would’ve put an end to the question for good.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Once Vision left, Darcy and Bucky sat together on the sofa, quietly sipping the provided coffee and each trying their best not to be the first one to break the undeniably awkward silence that had befallen them once left alone again. It hung heavy in the room, like an itchy woolen blanket on a warm day. Darcy had to fight the urge to squirm. And judging by the subtle whirring of his metal fist impulsively clenching and unclenching, Bucky was just as uncomfortable. She decided to take pity on the man and give him an out. He’d clearly be more at ease without her stuck in his shadow. Besides, she’d already warned him that the Vision would take his ass out if he tried anything, so what harm could there be in leaving him alone for awhile? In giving him some peace and quiet?

Darcy made a show of faking a yawn, only to have a real one creep up and snap her jaw open, surprising her with its force.

“Tired?” Bucky asked, a teasing, ghost of a smirk turning up his lip.

“Bit of an understatement, yeah,” she replied around another yawn. She fished her phone from one on the many zippered pockets of her suit and glanced at the time. The sun would be rising soon. “It stopped being ‘late’ two hours ago. It’s officially early.”

Bucky’s responding frown and averted gaze made her pause in dismay. Darcy hadn’t meant to make him feel guilty. She aborted the “leave him alone” plan, and scrambled to arrange herself in a way that read carefree and nonchalant. The last thing she wanted to do was add any more drops to his already overflowing well of self-blame and mental torment.

“You should at least try to get some sleep. Take the bed,” he insisted, inclining his head towards the neatly made guest bed nestled in the far corner of the room. “I’ll wake you up when the cavalry arrives to cart me off.”

It was tempting. Darcy hadn’t slept in a proper bed in what felt like _decades_ . Her cot back on the helicarrier was a far cry from the large, plush mattress and soft, expensive looking sheets just begging to be slept in. But she couldn’t bring herself to move, to leave Bucky to slip deeper into his guilt and pain; The same poisonous feelings that brought them here in the first the place, that corrupted and twisted him into the raw, ragged man she had to escort out of jail. Only hours ago she thought _herself_ the poster child of poor coping skills, but Bucky Barnes undeniably had stripped her of the title and reinvented the game.

“I’m not going anywhere, Bucky.” She reached out and grabbed his nearest hand, her fingers curling around his metal one and stilling their obsessive clenching. If she could take on his pain, shoulder his hurt even if just for a little while, she’d do it in a heartbeat. There was this urge, a deep seated impulse inside of her to protect, to care for him, to make all the bad go away.

Because her own felt infinitesimal next to his.  Because it was clearly too much for him to carry alone. Because if someone didn’t do it, she was afraid that this was the last time she’d see him alive.

_Because she couldn’t lose him too._

“Darce,” he croaked, his voice thick and tongue heavy. Bucky couldn’t even look at her straight on. He had to squint, like looking at her would burn him the same as staring directly at the sun. But he did turn his palm, allowing their hands to clasp together gently.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me. I’m not Stark. I don’t care that- what happened doesn’t matter to me. I just… I just want you to be okay,” she tried to explain, but words didn’t feel like enough. Darcy was lost, she’d normally be able to talk her way out of (or into) anything.

So, she did what felt natural, what her instincts had been quietly willing her to do for longer than she’d care to admit. She scooted closer, being careful to telegraph her movements and give him ample time to counter, before pressing her hip snugly against his and wrapping her free arm tightly around Bucky’s broad shoulders. She hugged him.

Bucky stunned her, responding by leaning heavily into her embrace and tucking his head into the crook of her neck. He inhaled deeply, breathing in the warm scent of her hair and skin. The sensation tickled, sending pleasant shivers all the way down to her toes. Emboldened by his reaction and the resulting, overwhelming feeling of rightness, Darcy took the hand that was still clutching her own and guided it to wrap around her waist. He answered immediately, encircling her with both arms and effortlessly hauling her up onto his lap in one swift motion. He smelled like gasoline and dirt and gunpowder and faint chemicals ( _tear gas_ her brain provided to her horror), yet Darcy coveted it, filed each scent away as something that would now only remind her of him, of this moment. She pressed her face into his chest as he held her, and she held him right back.

For the first time in weeks, Darcy felt truly safe. A rush of contentedness settled deep into her bones, making her relax further into the embrace. She sighed, her breath gusting out pleasantly warm over the skin of his collarbone. Bucky moved his flesh hand up to tenderly rake his fingers through her thick, silken hair, making Darcy squeeze him tighter. He flinched at that, his body going rigid once more. Darcy shifted, unwinding her arms from around him and gently taking his face in her hands, making him meet her warmhearted gaze. A clear question was written in her eyes.

“Tell me I’m not dreaming,” he pleaded quietly, his rough voice rumbling deep in his chest. “This doesn’t feel _real_.”

Darcy shushed him, drawing him back into her arms in hopes that the firm press of her body against his would remove all doubt. “I’m right here, Buck,” she whispered, her lips just shy of brushing the sensitive skin of his ear. He shuddered, his hands clutching almost painfully at her back and shoulders, and buried his face in her hair. His exhale tickled her neck, but she only held him closer. “ _I’m right here…_ ”

They sat for a long moment, finding rare comfort in each other, their world’s narrowing to include nothing but that room. A brief, candid peace that wrapped around them like a tangible thing. Their breathing gradually synchronized, along with the beating of their hearts. Eventually, Bucky stirred and lifted his head up to regard the breathtaking, angelic woman seated on his lap. She blinked up at him, those kind blue eyes staring straight through every single barrier, every wall he built to isolate himself from _everyone._ He felt himself being pulled to Darcy, like a rip current that had snared him and was steadily pulling him under. And god help him, but he was tired of putting up a fight.

Darcy could feel the atmosphere of the room change. The air felt charged, like right before a thunderstorm, and a current of desperation surged through her. Bucky must have felt it too, she felt his body tense again, but this time like a serpent coiled to strike. Blunt, harsh hands gripped the back of her neck as Darcy leaned forward, meeting him halfway for a sharp, hard kiss. Her arms flailed briefly, startled by the intensity, before moving her hands to his back and distractedly massaging the sturdy muscles there.

Bucky kissed like a starving man presented with a feast. Desperate, wild, and urgent. Every ounce of his body and mind went into the intimate press of his lips against Darcy’s own soft, plush ones. There was a struggle, a small fight for dominance that was all tongue and teeth and grabbing hands, before she let him take over, surrendered herself completely to him. When he sucked her bottom lip into his mouth and bit down, she gasped. A small noise, hardly enough for Bucky to even hear, but suddenly all he could focus on was getting her to do it again.

He surged forward, tucking her body close and flipping her carelessly so she was tossed onto her back and he was looming over her like a predatory cat toying with its prey. Bucky pressed her into the couch, grinding his hips into hers and bending to kiss and suck at the throbbing pulse point in her neck until- _bingo._ Darcy gasped again, then cried out as he sunk his teeth into her tender flesh. He practically purred in response, a satisfied rumble low in his throat at her reaction.

“ _God, Bucky,”_ Darcy breathed out, sounding shamelessly wrecked. Her chest was pounding and her skin was feverishly hot. Unconsciously, she opened herself underneath him. Her thighs parted, allowing him to push his growing erection more directly into her groin. She trembled at the contact.

“Need this, Darce,” Bucky murmured into her skin, kissing a wet trail up her neck and back to her lips. She opened her mouth to him, let his tongue chase hers playfully before he pulled back and looked down at her. The adoration mixed with flash of animalistic desire she found in his eyes stole every thought from her head.

“Need _you_.”

“I’m yours,” she answered, taking his hand and guiding it to the zipper at the front of uni. He wasted no time in yanking it down and pulling it open. The sight of her breasts, even clad in her utilitarian, regulation sports bra, made his mouth water. He hurried to unbuckle the belt at her waist, fiendish in his desire to reveal more of her creamy skin. His plan hit a snag after he managed to shuck the uniform past her hips only to be stubbornly impeded by her calf-high combat boots. Bucky growled in frustration.

Darcy couldn’t help but laugh, taking a strange joy out of the endearing clumsiness that came with his drive to get her naked. However, that laugh turned into a squeal as Bucky stood up and scooped her into a deadlift, hefting her body onto his metal shoulder as he stalked toward the bed. He dropped her down near the edge, the predatory glint in his eyes more prominent than ever as he knelt at her feet to remove her infuriating footwear. Darcy reclined on the sinfully comfortable mattress and peered down the length of her body to watch. His triumphant grin after finally tossing both her boots and socks across the room made her giggle again.

He made to climb onto the bed to join her, only to be halted by a delicate, bare foot pushing hard into his chest and barring his progress. His eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Nah uh, your turn now,” Darcy teased, extending her leg gracefully and moving her foot to stroke the side of his neck with her toes. Bucky gripped her ankle and pressed a kiss to the instep of the offending foot, before relenting. She watched with hooded eyes as the strapping Adonis of a man in front of her began to strip, relishing the slow reveal of hard muscle and tanned skin. A rush of warmth started in her cheeks and flowed straight to her core.

After a bit of trouble with his own goddamn boots, Bucky shoved down his jeans, taking his jockey shorts with them, and straightened, completely naked. Darcy got a fleeting second to admire him, from his sculpted chest to his powerful thighs to his impressive erection that bobbed keenly at her. Then he was grabbing at her again, pulling her towards him and yanking her suit off of her legs with one forceful tug. Her bra and panties were next, both practically ripped from her body with a ferocity that made her blood boil lustfully.

One look at Darcy flushed a pretty pink and lying nude, open just for him, looking like the human incarnation of sin, was enough to propel Bucky to the very edge. He all but pounced on her, lunging forward to reclaim her lips and lift her further up the bed until they were nestled in the middle. Her soft, luscious curves felt heavenly rubbing up against his own rough edges as he slid heavily on top of her. Darcy reached up, tangled her fingers in his long, messy hair and pulled, earning herself a muted groan from Bucky. He retaliated by palming one of her breasts and roughly pinching a pebbled nipple, before shifting down to worry the tender spot with his tongue.

And what a talented tongue it was. Given the time, Darcy was sure she could wax poetic on that dexterous muscle, write stanzas and sonnets to rival Shakespeare.

He treated her breasts to his undivided attention, alternating between kissing and sucking one and gently squeezing and rolling the other with his warm, human hand. Darcy basked in the caresses, shivering and feverish, and raked her sharp nails across his scalp. He practically snarled at the sensation, as he evoked more of those sweet, delicious little noises from her, savoring each one. But his fraying nerves and tenuous control could only last so long, and just being close to Darcy’s heat was enough to drive a man nuts.

Bucky went in for another searing kiss, this one tinged with a frenetic energy that had Darcy moaning and opening up completely underneath him. He fit perfectly into the cradle of her hips as she hooked her supple legs around his waist and pulled him impossibly close. His cock, painfully hard and leaking pre-cum, glided heavily through the drenched folds of her pussy; eliciting more moans and breathless pants. She bucked up against him, her body unconsciously seeking more.

Without breaking the kiss, Bucky caught her pelvis and held her still while he finally pushed into her silken heat. Darcy shuttered out a gasp and threw her head back at the sudden intrusion, tearing her lips out of his reach.  She could feel every inch of him, and when he started to move - so slowly, but so, so _deeply -_ an exquisite pressure began to build up in her belly. Her hands blindly clawed and scraped at the flesh of his back, seeking an anchor, something to ground her as Bucky continued to thrust in earnest.

“Oh god, so good. Bucky… so _good_ ” she babbled, her brain turning to mush as the pressure expanded.

Without warning, two cool, metal fingers snaked down between her legs and found her clit. Her body convulsed as the nimble digits ardently moved in tight little circles over the sensitive pearl of nerves. Darcy moaned, riding the wave as it built up and up and up- until it _crashed_. She cried out, almost sobbing as her climax ripped through her, her hips bucking wildly before every muscle seized and tensed. Bucky’s rhythm stuttered momentarily as her pussy clamped down on him like a velvet vice.

He slowed to a halt so he could watch her, enraptured by the graceful, yet violent chemical reaction he had incited. If Bucky had thought her a vision in a fitted SHIELD uniform; then naked and writhing under him Darcy was pure divinity.

“ _Christ,_ you’re perfect, Darcy,” Bucky praised as she started to come back down to earth, her walls still fluttering around his cock, making his eyes roll back in his head. “ _Goddamn_.”

As her body sagged bonelessly, her tired muscles relaxing so completely that she felt like she was floating, Darcy expended her last bit of energy to draw him down for another kiss. It was sweet, and gentle, a small affectionate gesture to show her appreciation- her utter satisfaction. Bucky returned it with as much care and adoration he could muster while still achingly, impatiently hard and throbbing inside her. When the buzzing at the base of his spine became too much, he tentatively rocked back into her, watchful for any signs of over-sensitivity. Her body answered by molding perfectly around his, turning to putty in his arms, and Darcy murmured honeyed words of encouragement in his ear. That was all he needed to collide back into her, his hips snapping at a near punishing pace, driving the breath from her lungs with each thrust.

“Fuck, Darce,” he groaned out between gritted teeth, even still picking up in speed and intensity. The exertion was making him pant and his skin sweat.

In his relentless pursuit of his own release, he managed to coax another orgasm out of Darcy. She arched up off the bed, spine close to bending in half and a silent scream of ecstasy forcing her pretty, swollen lips into a dramatic oval. This time Bucky followed her off the precipice, burying his face into the damp, taut skin of her neck. He came forcibly, his teeth clamping down on her flesh to stifle a shout. Darcy wailed at the sudden rush of pain intermingling with her bliss, not remotely caring that she’d surely have a huge, purple welt on her neck by the end of the morning. All that mattered was Bucky, still pulsing hot and wet inside her, and the mixing of their breath as they simultaneously came down from their high.

They stay connected as their bodies cooled and their hearts slowed to a more calm, relaxed rhythm, until Bucky, trembling from the force of his climax and the cathartic release of pent up emotions finally collapsed limply into the circle of Darcy’s waiting arms. She held him tightly, tracing soothing patterns with her nails on his back and whispering praise and sweet nothings into his ear while he regained function.

Eventually, he lifted his shaggy head, hair mussed and sticking up at odd angles, and regarded Darcy with an odd expression.

“What?” she asked, stilling her movements.

Bucky lifted himself away slightly and pulled out of her with a wince. His bionic hand pushed into the mattress to support his weight so he could look down at her properly. His brow furrowed, a trace of worry shadowing his eyes as he followed the slopes and dips of her body with his natural hand. She shivered involuntarily at the delicate touch.

“You’re skinnier.” The statement coming as more of an accusation than a compliment. Darcy frowned.

“Uh, I guess so... I haven’t really been paying attention,” she admitted with a shrug. “We just had some pretty earth-shattering sex, and the first thing you do is comment on my weight?”

“No, it’s not-” he heaved out a sigh and brushed a stray strand of hair back behind her ear. “You need to take care of yourself.”

She snorted and rolled her eyes. “Look who’s talking, Bucko.”

“Darce,” he whispered, a very serious look crossing his steel-blue eyes that demanded her absolute attention. “I just want you to be okay too.” And her heart, already close to bursting with affection for this damaged, painfully complicated man, ached keenly.

“ _We’ll get there_ ,” she promised, her voice barely even audible. But Bucky heard them all the same and leaned down to capture her lips in a tender kiss.

She hummed, contented, against his mouth and pulled away with a smile. A smile, Bucky thought, that men would gladly go to war for. He knew he’d do anything to keep that smile on her beautiful face, for as long as she’d let him anyway.

“Mmmm, we really should have done that ages ago,” Darcy purred, stretching her arms and legs as best she could still lying under him and moaning adorably as some of her joints popped.

Bucky hummed in agreement, rolled over onto his side so she’d have more room, and propped himself up on the padded headboard. After one great big, full body stretch, she tucked herself under his right arm and nuzzled into his chest with a sigh. His hand automatically came up to idly play with her messy hair and massage her scalp. A calm settled over the pair as just relaxed into each other.

Distantly, Darcy heard the muffled chirping of her phone’s alarm going off and groaned. It was 7 o’clock, the device cheerfully signaling the official start of the day. And effectively breaking the peaceful spell they had cast around themselves.

Undeterred by their best efforts, time hadn’t stopped. They both knew that sooner rather than later the world would come knocking on that door and they’d have to rejoin it, with its responsibilities and consequences and all manner of unpleasantness.

But their spirits were bolstered by the solid affirmation that, even after everything, they were defiantly _alive._ That they could still feel something good and pure. And that despite all the darkness and chaos, there were still things- people- in the universe worth trudging through all the bullshit for. And that was enough to carry them, however sleep deprived and emotionally raw they actually were, headfirst into a new day.

“Hey, Bucky?” Darcy asked as they reluctantly separated to start the search for their respective clothes.

“Yes, darling?” He paused in his efforts to right his inside-out jeans and glanced back over his shoulder at her.

“Is that my sock hanging from the ceiling fan or yours?”

Bucky hadn’t laughed so hard in nearly a century.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry.
> 
> It's not an excuse, but this summer royally sucked and I sort of lost my will to do anything. Also, I'm not gonna lie, this story was a beast. I rewrote it so many times that I was sure its ending would be my white whale. But thankfully I managed to finish it! It's not perfect by any means, and way longer than I intended, but it has an end. 
> 
> I'm sorry it took a million years to finish and hope this was closure enough for the brave few that are still reading. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for sticking it out til the end! I still can't believe anyone reads the crazy shit I write. So much love to each and everyone of you! 
> 
> <3 <3 <3


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